


The Trifling Matter Of Mr. Mortimer Maberley

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [80]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Army, Dessert & Sweets, Embarrassment, F/M, Gay Sex, Jealous John, M/M, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sherlock is Commanded to take a case by an army wife, and Watson is not at all jealous when he runs into a handsome gentleman with connections to a past case. No, not jealous at all.





	The Trifling Matter Of Mr. Mortimer Maberley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Myheartismayonnaise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myheartismayonnaise/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

The Nineties was a time when the woman's suffrage movement was making slow progress towards persuading people that half the population should not be disenfranchised because of their gender, although as it turned out not fast enough to subsequently prevent a bunch of extremists to split off and undo much of their good work. It was ironic therefore that Mrs. Æthelflæd Maberley, the lady who brought this case to Holmes, was not a supporter of such moves, but then she had no need to be as she ruled her husband with a rod of iron anyway.

Kean has just made an exceptionally lewd joke about his ruling me with his own rod of iron. Sometimes I do not know what I see in him - oh, he has just dropped his trousers. And that answers _that_ question!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

This was one of my friend's more amusing cases, totally free from death, destruction, murder, killing or even political intrigue. But not free from trifle. And my friend's sole reference to it was so excruciatingly unfunny that... well, it was fortunate that he was a great detective - because he was certainly no comedian!

The case came to us in the form of Colonel Sir Archibald Maberley-Brackston-Wragsby, hereafter (for obvious reasons) referred to as Colonel Maberley. He was about sixty-five years of age at the time, one of the great Characters of the British Army, and could surely have earnt himself some extra pennies in his latter years by posing for newspapers as the archetypal Grumpy Old Colonel. 

I said that it was Colonel Maberley who brought us this case, but I would have been less than truthful had I not recorded the Presence (capital letter most definitely required) of his good lady wife Mrs. Æthelflæd Maberley. This lady was one of those commanding woman whose look could probably have caused a whole tribe of Zulu warriors to seriously reconsider their life choices, and I did not doubt from the way she sailed into the room as to precisely who wore the trousers in this marriage. She looked sharply at my friend before she spoke.

“Archie is worried about Mortimer”, she said.

Presumably she expected us to solve whatever this case was from that sentence alone. I wondered how even the great Mr. Sherlock Holmes would deal with this terror, although fortunately my limited knowledge of the Army from the newspapers gave me at least part of the answer.

“Mortimer is your youngest son”, I said, “a lieutenant who works at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich.”

The colonel opened his mouth to say something but his wife got there first. 

“Archie has acquired some frankly impossible notion that dear Mortimer will Let The Family Down in some way”, Mrs. Maberley said firmly. _“Quite_ impossible, as I would never allow it. Although I must admit that I am a little concerned at his sharing accommodation with..... with....”

I leant forward, waiting to see what horror she was about to set on us.

“With an _Italian!”_ , she shuddered delicately. “Still, the dear boy is very set in his ways and quite determined to make his own way in life. We do of course have five other sons – no daughters as I did not have the time – and they are all good boys, but Archie fears that Mortimer may be falling into Bad Ways.”

She really could enunciate those capital letters. I was impressed, and if truth to be told also a little scared.

“We require you to investigate our son's circumstances and report back to us”, Mrs. Maberley said. “That is all. Our card.”

She extracted a card from her bag and placed it on the table, then stood and sailed over to the door. Stopping, she looked pointedly at her husband who scurried after her to open it. She sailed out of our rooms, and I was sure I caught a rueful expression on her husband's face before he hurried after her.

Well!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day Holmes made several inquiries, including a visit to the offices of Miss Day who had taken over from Miss Richards, the latter retiring to a cottage by the sea in Suffolk. He did not tell me the results of those inquiries but he seemed happy enough. The day after that we went to the house of Mr. Mortimer Maberley which was close to Waterloo Station just across the river. 

“Did you speak to your brother Sherrinford yesterday?” I asked as we walked down Nightingale Lane where our target's house was.

“I did”, he said, “or at least Mr. Hardland spoke to me. He was for once happy to see me, as he required my help in a small matter of his own. And he was able to get back to me later to say that one of the gentleman residents of the house we are approaching, Number Sixteen, is indeed in his employ.”

“Oh.”

“But not Mrs. Maberley's son”, Holmes smiled, “much to his regret, he said. His vocation lies some little way north of here.”

We were at the door so I was unable to question him any further, which was annoying. He knocked at the door and it was opened by a young fellow of whom I noticed three things. Firstly he was between twenty and twenty-five years of age, with curly chestnut locks framing a boyish face. Secondly he was dazzlingly handsome. And thirdly he was wearing only a barely-tied dressing-gown that only just concealed his modesty! Holmes smiled at him.

“Ettore!” he said, to my utter confusion.

Make that four things. The man's face lit up and he promptly pulled Holmes into an embrace!

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes!”

I coughed pointedly – several times – before the Adonis finally let go of my friend and smiled beatifically at us both. He really was annoyingly attractive, damn him.

“Very sorry”, he said, looking a little abashed. “But you have been so kind to myself and my sister, and it is wonderful to meet you again!”

“'Your sister?'” I asked curiously.

“My sister Vicky - Miss Vittoria Vincenzo”, he explained, “whom Mr. Holmes assisted when she worked for the circus as a belle. She and Rod are very happy over in Mortlake, and Mr. Holmes helped with my application to join her in this great country shortly after her marriage. Please to come in”

He led us inside. The building had evidently been converted into lodgings like our own 221B; I saw a fellow in pyjamas and a dressing-gown come out of a kitchen at the far end of the corridor, too half-asleep to even notice us as he slouched into what was hopefully his room. Mr. West led us through a door on the left and bade us sit down.

“We are here about Mr. Mortimer Mablerley”, Holmes said.

“Is Morty in any trouble?” the boy asked.

“Not that I am aware of”, Holmes said, looking round the room curiously. “I take it that you are his….. 'friend'?”

The Italian looked curiously at Holmes.

“Have you spoken to him?” he asked.

“I have never met him”, Holmes said, “although I fully expect that situation to be remedied by a short trip across the Thames. To answer your other question, although this is very obviously your room there are signs that another gentleman is a frequent visitor. And that the couch is a favoured place of you both.”

“How can you know that?” he asked.

“The excellent condition of your own teeth shows that you do not smoke a pipe”, Holmes said, “but someone has knocked out old tobacco dregs into a fire and one or two did not quite make it. I take it that your 'friend' is in the habit of collapsing onto the couch in an untidy heap to the detriment of the poor cushion and the indentations thereon suggest that he does not always rest there unaccompanied. Furthermore the bookcase shows two distinct choices of literature in both business and pleasure reading. And the table by the window has faint sun-marks on it which indicates that someone frequently spreads paperwork all over the place, something certain writers do far too often in my experience.”

I was a little slow but I harrumphed indignantly. Mr. West smiled.

“Morty has always wanted to make his own way in life”, he said. “I take it you have met his parents?”

“We have been told what to do by his mother!” I muttered.

“The difficult part now will be breaking the news to his parents in such a way that that lady will accept his decision”, Holmes said. “Fortunately certain information that I have been able to obtain will make that process easier. And you, young sir, may be in a position to help us.”

He nodded eagerly.

“I will do whatever I can”, he promised.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We took a cab back to Baker Street and Holmes then seemingly did nothing for the next few days, although I suspected he was working behind the scenes. That was proven correct when he said that we were meeting the Colonel and his fearsome wife at the Savoy Hotel for dinner that evening. I gulped at that – even with my improved financial situation, a dinner there would make my bank-manager probably need my services as a matter of urgency! - but fortunately Holmes had done a service for the current owner of the place and I could go there without spending an entire year's food allowance in one go.

Colonel and Mrs. Maberley arrived shortly after us and were of course keen to discover what Holmes had found out, only for him to explain he needed one additional confirmation of his findings that would arrive by telegram that evening. Fortunately – or not fortunately as I found later – the meal was Mrs. Maberley's favourite, especially the dessert which was strawberry trifle at the sort of price that would have kept a fair-sized restaurant going for some weeks. 

“This is absolutely _delicious!_ ” the lady said. “We must come here more often!”

Her husband looked horrified at the idea, as I myself would have been. Military pensions were not renowned for being _that_ generous. 

“Perhaps we might speak to the chef, to offer our compliments?” Holmes said, calling over a waiter. “I understand, madam, that for a few _valued_ customers, establishments like this one are known to provide recipes or even the occasional loan of their staff.”

“That would be wonderful”, she sighed. “And he can bring seconds whilst he is at it.”

Sure enough, some little time later a man in a cook's uniform walked smartly up to our table – and went deathly pale.

“Mortimer!” 

That was the colonel. Fortunately his lady wife had a mouthful of trifle, which she finished before looking sharply at what was very obviously her son. Who was staring at the floor in the obvious and fervent wish that it would open up and swallow him whole.

“Hmm”, Mrs. Maberley said. “You always did enjoy playing in the kitchen as a boy, I remember. And this trifle is _most_ delicious.”

“My son a mere cook!” her husband spluttered. “This is an outrage! I will not countenance such a disgrace to the family name!”

His wife slowly put down her spoon then turned to give her husband what was mist definitely a Look. The sort of Look that should have been prohibited under one of those weapons treaties. The colonel sank back down from his half-raised position.

“Hmm”, his wife said again. “ _Most_ delicious. Well, if you can find time to come home and cook for us now and again, that would be appreciated. Would it not, dearest?”

She was giving 'dearest' the sort of look that clearly implied whilst there might be two possible answers to her question, only one of them was really advisable. The colonel looked as if he was considering a scowl, then sighed.

“I suppose so”, he conceded. “Those roast potatoes were rather good.”

“Yes”, Holmes smiled. “And I understand from his Italian room-mate that from time to time Mr. Maberley here serves up a most delicious meal involving meat and two vegetables.”

The bastard! The poor young cook looked even more mortified than before, but fortunately neither of his parents managed to get the innuendo and he was allowed to retreat to the kitchen, where doubtless he poured himself a strong drink. Or three.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
